Grief
by Nerds United
Summary: In her delicate hand is an hourglass that seems to be spun from thin, see through, diaphanous sugar, draining fast, and the golden sand sifts through the tapered middle like liquid, turning to black ash as it hits the bottom. oneshot, postAWE. r and r!


**A/N: this piece was inspired by a song called Memory by Ned Rorem and Theodore Roethke; the lyrics are below. i own nothing. please review! it is from the perspective of Will, post AWE. enjoy!**

Memory

Song by Ned Rorem, words by Theodore Roethke

In the slow world of dream,

We breathe in unison.

The outside dies within,

And she knows all I am.

She turns, as if to go,

Half-bird half animal.

The wind dies on the hill.

Love's all. Love's all I know.

A doe drinks by a stream,

A doe and its fawn.

When I follow after them,

The grass changes to stone.

Elizabeth had made her choice. As it turns out, that choice hadn't been either of us; that choice had been death. I find myself pitying the woman. But there is no grief. There is no all-encompassing swell of hurt and despair. I find that I am calm. My mother would have described it as the calm before the storm. Such was her nature, to think of things as portents of doom. I can't help but wonder if this time that instinct is right.

Early the morning after I hear of Elizabeth's death, before the sun has risen; when all lie peacefully asleep in the darkness, I awake from sleep to find myself in a waking vision. Before me is Elizabeth's lovely face, but the colors are faded and indistinct, and the lines blur vaguely but for the determined angle of her chin and her brown eyes, wide and sorrowful, accented with regret.

The room is eerily silent; even stiflingly so, and it seems that it is the silence hanging in the air that keeps us from speaking. The blanket of quiet muffles the room, a repressive presence that constantly niggles at my mind. I unconsciously hold my breath as if letting it out would violate a sacred rule and she would be gone forever.

In her delicate hand is an hourglass that seems to be spun from thin, see-through, diaphanous sugar, draining fast, and the golden sand sifts through the tapered middle like liquid, turning to black ash as it hits the bottom. The sand has an ethereal copper glow that is slowly receding, evaporating like shimmering droplets of water in the fires of hell.

She is mouthing something to me, but I do not understand her, and her cheeks turn sallow and gray as I try numbly to comprehend. Ugly dark circles spread rapidly like sprawling bruises under her eyes and wrinkles grow like great rents after an earthquake in her once fair skin. Beneath the surface of her skin is a searing bronze light like that of the sand that pulses dully with the beat of my heart, and the light slowly begins to consume her as I stand frozen, watching, unable to blink.

She is still mouthing something to me, but soon the light overtakes her completely, shrinking until shafts of light sink into the ground like the roots of a great tree and a pair of iridescent, gossamer wings float in the still air, fluttering gently like the wings of a butterfly in a summer breeze. Eventually, the wings settle like autumn leaves on the back of what seems to be a cat that stands on the roots of a tree.

The hourglass drops to the ground and shatters into thousands of tiny gleaming pieces, sparkling with the glow of diamond-like tears. The sound rings clear in the room, tearing through the silence with dangerous jagged edges. The graceful cat levels its gaze and turns its wide, solemn golden-brown eyes up towards me with a sad, dignified grace.

They are Elizabeth's eyes.

And as I breathe, she breathes with me. Around us, the ash that was once coppery sand swirls like dust devils, and for a moment, I can see Elizabeth in the cat; her firm chin, her high cheekbones, her full lips, and above all, her eyes.

Then in an instant, she is gone, the eddying ash following where I cannot tread.

For a moment, I am not sure that I am truly awake, but sure enough, I step towards where the cat had been so recently, and a tiny shard of glass pricks at my foot, sending shoots of fresh pain like the roots of a baby plant into my foot. I absently pull it out, dead to pain, staring at the scattered remains of the hourglass, only glass now, no sand or ash even. In my haze, I realize that it must be cleaned up and staring at the mess will not help, so mechanically, I do so, and the room becomes as it was before.

I sit on the edge of the bed, staring as the pearly light of the morning begins to stream in through the window. The image of myself in the mirror cracks my numbness as I imagine her standing behind me, the ghost of her hand upon my shoulder, and suddenly the long expected grief comes violently upon me, washing over me like the great bulging waves of the ocean, breaking mercilessly over my head until I topple over from the weight of it all, and all I can do is weep for my loss. For the future. But most of all, for Elizabeth.

For grief.


End file.
